Page 31 of Snow White and the Seven Little Miners
Sigmund returned a time later, bearing the carcasses of several fat hares over his shoulder. The weather was suddenly icy cold, his breath visible in the air as he walked. Winter would be upon them very soon. The door to the cottage was closed, the house quiet. Perhaps Snow had laid down for a nap or was sitting by the fire darning socks. He opened the door, and his bow and the leash of hares hit the floor with a thump.
Snow was lying on the ground by one of the benches, limbs akimbo, his head tipped at an odd angle. Sigmund rushed forward, dropping to his knees next to him and giving him a shake. “Snow!” he said urgently. The body under his hands flopped listlessly. The blue eyes were closed, as if asleep, but the body was so heavy. Sigmund looked at his chest for signs of breath, but he saw no rise and fall there. He leaned down, pressing his ear to the young man’s chest, but he heard no flutter of a heartbeat either. “No,” he moaned, lifting the prince’s head and peeling back one eyelid. The beautiful sky-blue eye was lifeless and staring. “No, no, no, no…” Sigmund rocked the prince gently in his arms. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have left you,” he murmured, tears making their way down his cheeks. “You can’tbe gone, beautiful, you can’t. We love you so much. We love you. Please come back to us.” He sat there on the floor, Makellos’ head curled in his lap, rocking him gently and stroking his hair. And it was there that the six other miners found him when they returned at the end of the day.
“What happened?” Der asked in shock, dropping his tools and rushing forward. The others crowded behind him, and then there was screaming and commotion as they all surged inside and saw the horrific sight before them.
“I found him like this,” Sigmund said, barely looking up. His cheeks were bright red from crying, his eyes so swollen that he was squinting up at Der.
“Let me see,” Der said gently, but there was a catch in his voice as he knelt next to Sigmund. Sigurd stepped up behind his brother, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders and squeezing lightly.
Der felt as if his heart was broken into a million pieces. Behind him, Dagobert was on his knees screaming, the sound muffled into Hardwic’s chest as tears flowed down the round man’s face and into his beard. Bernhardt was nearly hyperventilating, and Grim was just staring with the most blank look on his face that Der had ever seen. If Sigmund had found him in this state, it was far too late for any extraordinary measures. It didn’t seem possible that their dear, sweet, kind-hearted prince, who loved animals and baking and had been so kind and passionate with all of them, was gone.
They needed some answers. Der pulled off his spectacles, wiping tears off of them with a cloth from his pocket and put them back on, but the tears had only streaked further. More of them made fresh tracks down his face as he carefully lifted Makellos into his arms.
Der checked his throat, but there was nothing lodged there; he had not choked to death, despite the apple with a single bite outof it that lay a short distance away. He checked him all over for bruises or signs of a struggle. But there was nothing at all.
“Had to be magic,” Grim muttered, more to himself but loud enough for the others to hear. “He was fine this morning, fit as a fiddle.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and gave his nose a great honk into it.
They washed his body and hair with soap in case he had been poisoned by something he touched, but there was no indication anywhere of why their beloved prince was dead on the floor. Tears streamed down every face, though Dagobert continued to sob the loudest, unable to even touch the prince without breaking out in heart-wrenching wails. They dressed him once more in his perfectly clean shirtsleeves, pants, and boots. And then came the question of what to do with him.
They had dealt with death before; many of their friends and family had died over the years in the mines, and most of them were laid to rest in the forest, buried when they were able. But it was dark outside now, the pain still a fresh wound. So, they placed him on their collective large bed and sat a vigil around him all night, the flickering lanternlight playing off of his pale skin, still so smooth and full even in death. The only sound all night was the occasional sniffle or clearing of the throat as each reflected on their dear prince who had left them far too soon.
Dawn came, and none of them stirred. The thought of going to work now, of plunging into the dark, musty mines, seemed like an impossible feat. It was long after they should have left for work when Bernhardt finally broke the heavy silence. “Is anyone hungry?”
They all were, for they had had no supper, but the thought of eating anything right now seemed like too great a task. Still, Bernhardt rose to his feet, and Hardwic followed him. Together, they set about putting together a simple meal of bread and cheese. All of them gathered around the table that suddenlyseemed much too large and empty without Makellos’ bright laughter and warm presence there. They ate with only a few mumbles in between, and then they all sat silent once more.
“Shall… shall we bury him?” ventured Der, his voice low and cautious, as if afraid to give voice to his thought.
That sent Dagobert into another wail of grief, and several others flinched. They knew they could not leave him as he was forever. But the thought of putting their beloved Makellos in the ground, amongst the dirt and worms, was too much for them bear with their sorrow still so overwhelming. “One more day,” Hardwic said softly.
That elicited nods and mumbles around the table. One more day to sit with their thoughts and their heartache before they would do their best to try to move forward without the ray of sunshine that had come into their lives and changed them all for good.
Dagobert was still sobbing. Der stroked his back gently. “Here now, Dag, you should get some rest. Let’s… let’s bring the prince in here, so there is a place of privacy.”
No one objected, nor did any of them protest when they carried Makellos in their arms once more into the living space and set him carefully on the table. They placed a blanket under him and changed the blankets on the bed as well. A few movements were made to return to normalcy. Dagobert was put to bed. Wise old Bernhardt took the blankets to wash and then hung them to dry in front of the fire that Sigurd stoked back to life. Dishes were cleaned, tools were sharpened, another meal was eaten. All of this happened in relative silence. The life that the beautiful prince had brought into the cottage was gone, leaving it cold and drab, a prison once more.
Occasionally, one or two of them would stop and sit on a bench and hold the prince’s hands or press soft kisses to his cheeks and forehead. They spoke to him in soft voices, whispered secretwords in his ear. Told him how much they loved him and what he had meant to them, with his kindness and creativity and loving spirit. His passion and his lack of favoritism as he made love to each of them in his own way.
As darkness settled over the woods once more, most of them headed off to bed, bringing Dagobert a plate of food as well that the young man picked silently at. Grimwald sat up, wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the bench next to Makellos, a cup of lukewarm tea clutched in his hands. “It ain’t fair,” he grumbled softly. “It ain’t fair.”
Eighteen
The oppression of dawn was heavy on all of them the next morning. There was again no talk of going to the mines. The priority today would be to bid a final farewell to their dear, sweet Snow White, the fairest in all the land. The sunlight through the windows was dull and gray like their thoughts as they gathered around the table.
“Does anyone wish to speak?” Der asked softly.
There was silence all around. Even Dagobert had finally ceased his wild sobs, too wrung out from crying to do more than lean on Hardwic’s shoulder.
Sigmund finally spoke up. “I think we all know that we lost something very special. Something that we were lucky to ever find in the first place.”
“He loved all of us, and we all loved him,” said Sigurd, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “He was a diamond in the mine, the most beautiful of all.”
“He had the most wonderful laugh,” said Hardwic.
“And he could dance like an angel,” Bernhardt added.
“Perfect,” croaked Dagobert, to which everyone nodded their heads in silent agreement.
“Grim?” Der asked, giving the dark-eyed man a glance. “Would you like to say something?”
